


swiftly

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimes & Criminals, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents, dark characters, sansa is alayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Alayne Stone doesn't mind being arm candy.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 39
Kudos: 185





	swiftly

**Author's Note:**

> not what i usually write but i hope some of you might still enjoy it :)
> 
> any mistakes are my own!

Alayne Stone doesn't mind being arm candy.

She's good at it, enjoys it even, when the occasion is right.

Sansa Stark would most definitely mind it.

But  _ she _ is long dead, and so is everyone else who once met her. Sansa's life is now part of the past, and she's just a memory from a different world, filled with different people and different dreams.

It was a good life in a good world.

And then it was over.

In Alayne's world, it's either eat or be eaten. By now, she's used to playing nice and doing whatever it takes to survive. That means, amongst other things, playing dumb while entertaining a client.

That also means sometimes saying yes when she really would rather say no.

Tonight is one of those times. 

It's not supposed to be one. She's Jaime Lannister's date tonight. She likes Jaime. He's older, yes, much older, and he's rich, too rich, and he's exceptionally dangerous, as all Lannisters are, but he's nice to her. He's funny, he's handsome, and he's great in bed. Alayne always has a good time when she's with Jaime, so much that she can usually pretend to be having an actual normal night with a date, and not doing what she's doing.

Tonight, though, there's no pretending.

Everything is going well at first. A car picks her up at 7p.m. It drives her to the Theater. She meets Jaime there. He compliments her dress. It’s red, his second favourite color, and she knew he would like it. She kisses him, chastely, on the lips. He likes that too. They watch the ballet. It's beautiful. Alayne has tears in her eyes at the end.

_ -There once was a time where Sansa danced at a ballet company. She performed in theaters like this one. She made other people tear up. But that was Sansa and this is Alayne. Alayne simply watches the ballerinas and claps enthusiastically when it's over.- _

A car takes them to Roose Bolton's house next. There's a party happening. Jaime plays poker in the back. Alayne sits on his lap, looking pretty and being quiet. She's very good at both things. The clients all like that about her. It’s one of the reasons why she’s so requested. After the game, Jaime discusses business in the back. Alayne still sits on his lap. She listens, while pretending not to. She avoids Roose Bolton's eyes, while pretending not to be scared of him. She's always scared of him, but Alayne is good at pretending.

After a while, Jaime leads her to the dance floor. Alayne loves dancing. She likes the feel of Jaime's golden hand on her lower back, the metal cool on her skin. They dance, they talk, she laughs. Really laughs, because Jaime is an amusing man, and he likes to entertain. She's aware that most eyes in the room are on them. That's exactly the point. All Lannisters like attention, and the red dress Alayne is wearing was chosen precisely for that. She can tell Jaime is pleased. That makes her pleased too. Everything is going well, and they dance to three more songs, until a voice makes them stop.

It's a man's voice, rough, with a deep northern accent, too familiar in all the ways that it shouldn’t be.

Alayne's blood turns ice cold.

"Mr. Lannister."

Jaime spins her so her back is pressed against his chest, his hands on her hips, and Alayne's blue eyes are facing the stranger's grey ones.

_ -Sansa's family had grey eyes. Not herself, not her mother or her brothers, no. Theirs was a deep Tully blue. But her father's eyes were Stark grey, and so were her uncle's and her sister's. And her cousin's too, the one who went away and never came back, the one whom she hadn't been allowed to love. His were the most haunting eyes she'd ever seen, sad, but still so beautiful. She could never forget those eyes. But that was Sansa and this is Alayne. Alayne is an orphan. Alayne has no family. Alayne isn't haunted by stark grey eyes when she goes to bed at night.- _

"If it isn't the man of the hour! Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Snow."

Jaime's good hand leaves her hip, extended towards the man. Mr. Snow takes it in a firm handshake. Alayne has yet to breathe. She finds it that she can't. She can't feel her legs either. In fact, Jaime's body pressed against her is the one thing holding her up.

"I was hoping we could talk for a minute, if you don't mind."

Mr. Snow is looking at Jaime, now. He ignores Alayne, as he should. He doesn't bother asking her name. She's just arm candy. She's not important. She's pretty to look at and ready to use and easy to replace if broken.

"Not at all, I was actually hoping to arrange a meeting with you soon. I’m glad to do it now."

Mr. Snow nods. His eyes glance at Alayne, then, only for a second, but it's enough to set her heart to a hammering point. She feels Jaime's other hand leave her, feels his lips at her temple, his voice on her ear.  _ Wait for me at the bar, sweetheart.  _ And then both men are walking away, voices low, and Alayne seems to remember how to walk. She's at the bar before she even realizes, hands shaking, a ringing in her ears.

"Vodka. No ice. Make it a double."

She chugs it down, asks for another, chugs it down again. Her throat is burning. Her mind is screaming. There's a lot of Snows in Alayne’s world, yes. Not many of them look like the ghost of Ned Stark. Not many of them have haunting eyes, the kind that won’t leave your mind. She shakes her head. 

_ Fuck.  _

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, a thousand times fuck. _

_ -Alayne doesn't know Ned Stark, but Sansa loved her father more than anything. But this is Alayne. Or at least that's who she's pretending to be. Alayne Stone isn't real. But she has to be, at least for tonight, at least until she's safely tucked in bed. Alayne has a part to play.- _

She looks up at the mirrored surface behind the bar. Alayne looks at her own reflection. Blue eyes, very common, a lot of people have blue eyes. Dark brown hair, almost black, also very common. A red dress, low neckline, even lower back. Expensive looking, attention drawing. That's Alayne.  _ I'm Alayne.  _ She orders a third shot, just sips on it, careful, controlled. She's good at pretending, she excels at it.  _ Get it together. _

Alayne watches Jaime in the mirror. He's walking her way. She turns, meets him with a coy smile. He looks pleased.

"Everything went well, I hope?"

He takes the drink from her hand, sips on it, gives it back to her. "More than well. Listen, sweetheart, I'm gonna need you to do me a favour."

It's not really a favour. No one says no to a client. No one says no to a Lannister. In fact, Jaime is only asking her because he's polite. He knows Alayne will say yes. And she does, with a smile and a laugh and a touch of her hand at Jaime's arm. He kisses her on the cheek. Alayne pretends to enjoy it.

Jaime lifts his hand to Mr. Snow. Mr. Snow nods, and leaves. Alayne watches him go. Jaime takes her to the dance floor again. Three songs of spinning and laughing and him humming the melody in her ear. Then they're saying their goodbyes. A car takes them to the Hotel. Alayne has been here many times, with Jaime and a few other clients. They go straight to the elevators. He presses the tenth floor. Then he holds her hand, his thumb stroking her skin. It's a nice gesture, meant to reassure her, she thinks. Jaime is a nice man. Dangerous, yes, as all Lannisters are, but nice too. Maybe not to everyone. But to her, he is, most definitely. And he really doesn't have to be. Alayne is just arm candy. Expensive, yes, but disposable. Replaceable in less than a day. Some clients take advantage of that. Jaime hasn't so far.

The elevator doors open and they're walking. Jaime knocks on the 1007. Mr. Snow opens the door. He has a drink in hand. Whiskey, it seems. He's without a jacket and a tie, his shirt slightly unbuttoned. He smiles at Jaime, asks them to come in. Alayne takes in her surroundings while they talk. A little bit of smalltalk, a little bit of business. Drinks are filled and she's given a glass. Whiskey, yes. She sips on it, eyes around the room, making herself invisible until she's needed. Alayne is good at that too.

She feels a hand at her shoulder. Alayne closes her eyes. Jaime's mouth is on her ear. "Let's give him a show, shall we?" He's at her back, hands on her hips, guiding her to where he wants her. His lips find her neck and she opens her eyes.

Mr. Snow is sitting on a chair, a drink in hand, grey eyes on Alayne. She can feel him staring as well as she sees it. She wants to blush and look away, but she finds that she can't. His eyes have her gaze locked with his. And she's burning. Her cheeks, her chest, her cunt, everything burns under his stare. It's not supposed to feel this way, Alayne knows, but it does.

Jaime pushes one sleeve of her dress down, and then the other. He kisses her shoulders, her neck, slowly, gently. He enjoys this. It's not the first time they do it, this showing off. Alayne knows there's a lot of money at stake here, and some favours too, always something to be taken care of. But the Lannisters also enjoy attention, yes, and Jaime, well, Jaime thrives on it. He's done it before, with her and with some of the other girls. Alayne knows he gets off on it, on being watched. A secret part of her has come to enjoy it as well, not that she indulges herself, no, but when she has to perform like this she's found it to be pleasant. Exciting, even. Tonight is the same, yet it's also more. It's more because she shouldn't want to be watched by Mr. Snow. She shouldn't enjoy it. And somehow that makes her crave it with more need. 

Jaime unzips her dress and pushes it to the floor. Alayne is wearing red lingerie. A strapless bra and very small panties, all soft lace. She feels Jaime's hand on her stomach, moving up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple. Alayne gasps. Mr. Snow takes a sip of his drink. Jaime's hand moves to her other breast, pinching her again, painfully, and he also sucks a bruise on her neck. That makes Alayne moan. Mr. Snow sits up on the chair. Jaime's hand moves down, slowly, past her navel, under her panties. His fingers trace her lips.

"Gods, Alayne, you're soaked. Seems like someone also enjoys being watched."

Mr. Snow takes another sip of his drink, finishes it this time. He places the glass on the floor. His hand is at his chin, elbows at his knees, his jaw locked. Jaime pushes two fingers inside her cunt. There’s no resistance, Alayne is embarrassingly wet. She moans, loud, long, shuts her eyes, leans against Jaime's body, her hand coming up to grab at his hair. She can still feel Mr. Snow staring. She bites her lower lip to keep from moaning. Jaime fucks her with his fingers at a frustrating pace. She feels him hard against her ass. He pumps into her a few more times, then his fingers are stroking her clit. His free arm circles around her waist, supporting her weight. He rubs her fast, applying just the right amount of pressure and she feels herself getting closer. Mr. Snow's eyes are clear on her mind. She knows that he’s watching. She hopes he’s enjoying it. Jaime's mouth is on her neck, kissing and biting and sucking and she can't take it much longer. Alayne comes, with a cry and a shiver. Her body goes slack against Jaime's. His hand leaves her cunt. His lips are on her ear.

"Open up, sweetheart."

Alayne opens her eyes. Jaime's fingers are close to her lips, glistening from being inside her. She looks at Mr. Snow. His eyes are locked on her face. She opens her mouth, darts out her tongue, tastes herself on Jaime's fingers. He pushes them inside her mouth. She sucks. Mr. Snow rearranges his pants. She watches him swallow. She bulks against Jaime's erection and he groans, his fingers still on her mouth. She sucks until he tells her to stop.

Hands on her hips, he turns her and kisses her. It's slow and hot and she feels dizzy from it. He then tells her to undress him, and she does. Tie, jacket, shirt, pants, shoes. She's kneeling down, hands on his hips. Jaime and Mr. Snow are talking, but she doesn’t really listen. She can still feel his eyes on her. She lowers Jaime's underwear and takes him in her mouth. He groans, hand coming to grab at her hair. She moves her head, uses her tongue, the way she knows he likes it. Their conversation dies down. Alayne looks up at Jaime but he's looking forward. She keeps going until he tugs on her hair. He's looking down now, strokes a thumb at her lower lip. Alayne is excited about what comes next.

"Let's take this to the bed, sweetheart."

Jaime helps her to her feet, leading the way. She kicks off her heels, but keeps on her lingerie. Jaime likes to look at the lace. He lays down, his head at the foot of the bed, and Alayne straddles his hips. She's facing Mr. Snow. He gets up from the chair, walks up to them. Alayne can't look away. Her hand finds Jaime and she starts stroking him. He groans from her touch. Mr. Snow is standing right in front of them. He’s older than Alayne, but younger than Jaime. His beard is scruffy, looks like it could scratch her skin, mark it red. His black curls look soft. She would love to touch them. It’s a strange thought to have while stroking Jaime’s cock, but her mind has been playing tricks on her today, so she embraces it, pictures herself threading her fingers through Mr. Snow’s curls, pictures that they’re soft to the touch and that he enjoys her doing so. She does that while staring at him, blue and grey locked together, his eyes so intense that she doesn’t really register what he’s saying until after it happens.

“Sorry about this.”

Mr. Snow reaches for something at his back with one hand. It’s a gun, small, silver, Alayne doesn’t know the type. She’s not as familiarized with guns as some of the other girls. With his free hand he picks up something from his pocket, attaches it to the gun. It’s bigger now. He aims at Jaime’s head, and shoots. There’s barely any sound. There’s lots of blood on the white sheets. This all happens very fast, but to Alayne it seems like slow motion, the images dragging in front of her eyes. Her body is moving, backing away until she hits her shoulders on the headboard. She opens her mouth to scream, but Mr. Snow is faster. His hand is over her lips, keeping them closed. He’s shushing her, and she notices his lips are the most perfect shade of pink. Alayne thinks she must be in shock. This is new. She hasn’t experienced shock in a while. She also notices Mr. Snow’s gun on her thigh. The metal is hot against her skin. He’s stroking her with his thumb, calming her down. They stay like that until her breathing slows. Mr. Snow moves his hand, tracing her lips with his fingers. His eyes are on her mouth for a moment, then back to staring. He moves a strand away from her face.

“You changed your hair.”

_ Fuck. _

“You grew a beard.”

Her voice is shaky. She takes a breath. He chuckles at her. His hand is on her cheek now, gentle, touching her in a way Alayne isn’t used to.

“You can’t scream.”

“I won’t.”

Mr. Snow nods at her, believing her, trusting her, so easily. Alayne isn’t used to that either. But she isn’t Alayne, no. She’s Sansa. He knows she’s Sansa. He knows.  _ Fuck.  _ He leaves the bed, opens the bedroom’s closet, comes out with a briefcase in hand. He sits at the desk, places the gun next to him, opens the briefcase. It’s a computer. He starts typing.

Alayne- _ no, I’m Sansa, I’m Sansa Stark- _ Sansa gets up from the bed. She doesn’t look at Jaime’s body. She doesn’t look at the blood. She doesn’t feel sad. Jaime was nice to her, yes, but he was just as dangerous as everyone else in Alayne’s world, just as bad. Sansa hates this world. She just got good at pretending, that’s all.

Sansa doesn’t think she can pretend anymore.

She picks up her dress from the floor, puts it on, walks to the desk. Mr. Snow is typing something. She reads the words  _ cleanup  _ and  _ extraction.  _ He stops, looks up, lifts an eyebrow. She turns her back to him.

“Can you zip me up?”

He doesn’t reply, but she feels his fingers on her skin. He zips her up. His touch lingers.

“How did you know it was me?”

“It’s my job to know.”

He drops his hands and she hears him typing again. She turns, looking at the screen. The crow sigil at the bottom gives it away.

“Jon, you’re still a ranger.”

_ Jon. _

It’s as if the air shifts. She feels him tense, only to release a breath right after. His name feels good on her tongue, like it belongs there. Sansa wants to say it again and again, to herself and to him.

“Not exactly, but yes.”

“I looked you up.” She did. Countless times. Until one day, she stopped. “The records said you were dead.”

Jon nods. “I was, for five minutes. I still am, for all intents and purposes.”

“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”

Jon closes the briefcase, smirking. His eyes find hers again. “Maybe.”

Sansa smiles too. It’s a small one, and she doesn't understand why she’s doing it, but she smiles all the same. He gets up, takes the gun, removes the silencer  _ -that’s why there was no noise, she thinks-  _ and places it back in his pocket. The gun goes on his back. He walks to where her shoes are, picks them up, brings them back to her, puts them on her hands. He grabs the briefcase, places it back in the closet, closes the door.

“What happens now?”

Jon turns to face her. He motions to her shoes.

“Put them on. You’re coming with me.”

Alayne’s voice is screaming in her brain.  _ Wait. You can’t. _ Her apartment, her clothes, Mya, Petyr, the clients, her necklace, that one photo under the floor.

“I can’t-”

“Sansa, I’m not asking, I’m telling you. Now put your shoes on.”

Sansa’s breath is stuck on her throat. It’s been three years since anyone called her by her name. She feels a shiver down her spine. She doesn't move. Jon walks up to her, takes the heels from her hands. He gets down on his knees and helps her put them on, lifting her feet one at a time, with careful, gentle hands, his touch warm on her bare skin. He then gets up, cupping her face with both hands, body so close she feels his breath on her lips.

“Killing Jaime Lannister was the mission. I needed to do it here and I needed to get as much information from him as possible before ending it. That’s why I let you do all that. But now it’s over and I’m taking you with me. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Jon doesn’t let go, doesn’t step back, doesn’t stop breathing her air. She sees that his pupils are blown wide. She wonders if hers are the same. They must be. She lifts up her hands, brings them to his hair, threading her fingers through his curls, marveling at the soft, silky feel of them under her palms. Jon closes his eyes. She feels him release a breath.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hair looks very soft. I wanted to know if it also feels like that.”

He sighs. Sansa continues to touch him, one hand at the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek, enjoying the feel of his beard on her skin. He leans down a little and their foreheads touch, their noses brush.

“How did you know,” he whispers, “that it was me?”

“Your eyes. They look the same. And your voice, your hair, your beard. I don’t think you realize how much you look like a Stark.”  _ How much you look like him. _

Jon chuckles. It’s a sad sound. “More than I deserve.”

She wants to tell him not to say that, wants to assure him that he’s every bit a Stark as she is, perhaps even more, but he’s pulling away and she drops her hands, only for him to grab one on his hold. He intertwines their fingers, his hand rough, his grip strong.

“We need to go now.”

“Alright.”

Then he’s grabbing his jacket with his free hand and pulling her out the door. 

And Sansa Stark doesn’t look back at the room. She doesn’t glance at the body, at the blood. She doesn’t listen to Alayne’s voice in her brain. 

She simply grips Jon’s hand tighter, and goes.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> comments are always appreciated :)
> 
> come find me on tumblr if you feel like it!
> 
> Xxxxxxxx


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